


Drink You In Nice and Slow

by theweddingofthefoxes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Masturbation, Modern AU, Teasing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweddingofthefoxes/pseuds/theweddingofthefoxes
Summary: A fill for this Kylux Hard Kinks prompt: "Hux shamelessly sunbathing on his balcony in plain sight of his neighbor Kylo. at first, Kylo feels dirty for getting off at the sight of his body but that guilt slowly begins to fade as he begins to suspect Hux is showing off of purpose in lewd acts from his balcony."





	Drink You In Nice and Slow

Anybody who moves in the middle of summer to an apartment in the city is a masochist, Ren thinks as he leaves for work. The moving truck, he notices as he pauses at the top of the steps leading down to the street, is hogging all the space in front of the building, blocking the morning light but not blocking any of the heat or humidity. He brushes his hair back with his fingers held in a loose claw, wondering. He knows whoever it is is moving in right next door to him, but so far he’s only seen the movers, not the neighbor him-or-herself. Maybe a couple. He’s been lucky with neighbors since he moved in, since he’s on the end and there’s no one on his left. The people who just moved out were quiet as church mice, never fought, never fucked loud enough to be heard, never had parties. Hopefully this guy will be of the same ilk. Ren’s mind goes towards what kind of bagel he might get himself for breakfast, and he doesn’t think about the new guy for the rest of the day. 

When he gets home, the air has cooled down a bit--it’s cloudy, a breeze has begun to pick up, though not yet a drop of rain. The moving truck is gone. Ren doesn’t even remember anyone has moved in today until he glances out the window by his favorite chair and sees an orange cat balancing confidently on the ledge of the next-door balcony. The balconies on this side of the building face west, with a view of the back road and the city’s idea of a green space, a scraggly wooded area. No other buildings block out the light, so the sun glints off her fur as she works her way around the perimeter. 

Ren’s heart jumps into his throat. They’re on the fourth floor, and if she falls, she’ll plummet a long way down, into the busy road below. If she’s concerned about the precariousness of her position, she doesn’t show it. She takes long, steady strides to come closer to Ren, her big green eyes unblinking. Then she sits and licks her paw, tired of staring, but Ren’s not. He stands there dumbly watching the cat until the someone comes to the balcony door--the angle makes it impossible to see who, but Ren can hear a man’s voice with an English accent through his open window. “Millie, Millicent. Come in, bad girl.” Then a series of low kissing sounds, the sounds everybody in the world uses to draw closer a kittycat. 

Millie hops down onto the concrete patio and Ren lets out the breath he hasn’t been able to stop holding since he saw her. The glass door slides shut and there’s not another sound. No, wait, that’s a lie. There’s faint clinking, like this person is putting away dishes and silverware. Later there is the sound of the vacuum. Later still, a teenage boy arrives on a bicycle with a bag of Chinese food, and Ren hears him knock on the neighboring door. 

It’s not until the following day that he finally _sees_ his new neighbor. And after that, he seems him a lot. Just about every day after that. 

The cat is on the patio again and again, sometimes in her master’s lap but more often sitting on the cat climber that the neighbor has set out there--it’s shaped kind of like a lollipop, a slender trunk with a hollow orb for her to hide inside, and a flat top so she can climb on top enjoy the sunshine. That’s where she is a lot, sitting on her backside and licking between her splayed toes, her owners pale, freckled hand drifting upwards to pet her back. 

The owner himself is lean, skinny, even, except he wears it well. Better than well, if Ren is being honest. It’s the lazy grace he moves with--his red hair, and his langor, they suggest that he and his cat are two spirits in the bodies of different species. He does nothing in a hurry, whether that’s spritzing on a requisite coat of sunscreen (with coloring like his, it’s crucial, and he reapplies frequently) or leaning forward to read a text message, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head to better see the screen. 

He has already moved a lot of things outside besides the cat tree. A chaise lounge, and two big, viney plants. He’s out on this lounge, petting his cat, just wearing an unbuttoned pair of pastel shorts, and when he stretches, Ren can see the hair under his arms is red too. 

Ren wonders if this guy can see him, looking all over the neighboring balcony, looking at the plants and the cat and the chaise and _him_. It’s hard to focus on any one thing. Or, rather, Ren knows if he allows himself to focus on just this neighbor, on the slim white body that is slowly getting more and more color as summer goes on, on the way he wears just as much as you could get away with at the beach. Seeming to not care that the whole fucking _city_ can see, lying out there seemingly from the time he’s home from work to the time it gets dark. He has a book and a bottle of wine and his cat, and he hardly moves except to stretch. That’s the most exciting part, and it always catches Ren’s attention when he sees, from the corner of his eye, the guy link his hands together and arch his back. Is he a gymnast, a dancer, maybe? Ren has made up so many possible backstories for this guy but he doesn’t even know his name.

When night falls, the guy usually retrieves a cigarette from his favored hiding spot--an empty little flowerpot shaped like a turtle. Smokes it long and slow. He only smokes when the sun goes down and there’s something maddeningly erotic about it. Spotting his neighbor indulging in his nighttime cigarette seems to augur good fortune, or maybe it just does because Ren has decided it does. He gets a good review at work and his boss praises him. His team of friends wins at their weekly trivia night for the first time since they’ve started playing. He wins some giveaway on his phone from a fast-food place entitling him to free fries about ten minutes after the neighbor lights the cigarette one night. 

It seems unlikely that the guy knows Ren’s watching. And it’s not like Ren perches there for hours just _staring_ like some kind of fucking lunatic. This chair by the window has been his favorite because he can feel like he’s getting fresh air while he answers emails or plays Xbox or watches TV. The way it’s situated, he’s almost positive that he can see out but the neighbor can’t see in. There’s glare from the window, when it’s closed, and that window is sort of tucked in, so there’s a corner of brick wall between them. Plus the guy almost always wears sunglasses, and the chaise is positioned so he’s pointed diagonally away from him. Perfectly set up for the curious neighbor to stare to his heart’s content without being spotted himself. 

Still, it’s well into the summer before Ren finally breaks and touches himself at the sight of the neighbor. 

It is twilight on a Friday in early August and unbearably stuffy outside. Ren practically sprints inside once he’s done with dinner, just to get into the air conditioned lobby, and then feels so worn out just from that effort that he takes the elevator instead of the stairs. The heat has wrung every last bit of energy out of him, but he hears someone call, “Hold it, hey, please hold it!” and he manages to fling his arm out in front of him fast enough to keep the doors from shutting. 

It’s the red-headed neighbor, crossing quickly to the elevator from the mailboxes, a package from Amazon tucked under his arm. Ren stabs at the fourth floor button, struck dumb.

“Thanks,” the neighbor says, shifting the box so he can wipe at his face with his arm. 

“You’re welcome,” Ren says, and glances down at the box to see if he can catch a glimpse of the name on the address sticker. He can’t make out the first name, but the surname is plainly visible. Hux. 

“Christ, but it’s hot,” Hux says, not seeming too concerned with whether Ren replies. 

“It’s been a hot summer,” Ren offers.

The doors open, and Ren lets Hux go first. Hux smiles. “Might have to go lie out on the porch awhile,” Hux says in a drawl, and even though he is looking at the doorknob, fitting the key inside, there is something about it that makes Ren feel like he is being addressed directly. “A cold drink and a nap on a hot day do wonders,” Hux goes on. He turns to Ren as he gets the door open. “Cheers,” he says, and then he’s gone.

But he’s not. Not really. He’s just on the other side of the wall. 

Ren does not rush to his chair, even though he wants to. He goes to the fridge to put away his leftovers, then pours himself a glass of water. He removes each cube of ice from the tray with the painstaking precision of a kid playing a claw game at an arcade. Plunks them each in the glass, one by one. Turns on the TV, which is tuned to something bland and chattery, Food Network or something. Just something to fill the space with noise so he doesn’t feel so _predatory_ for settling down in the chair with his cup and watching the balcony. The window is already open about four inches (just to let the breeze in!).

_He knows, though. He knows he knows he knows…And he wants me to see_

Of course, Ren doesn’t know that for sure. 

But it seems awfully likely.

The glass door slides open and Hux makes his way out, stripped down out of of the clothes Ren had seen him wearing in the elevator, down to just robin’s egg-blue shorts, no belt, a sprinkling of freckles just subtly spreading across his shoulders. His hair looks like it’s maybe been washed, or at least the product has been cleaned out of his, and he pushes it back carelessly as he moves the turtle flowerpot out of the reach of the cat, she’s trying to bat a cigarette free. “Bad,” Ren can hear him say. In the light of the setting sun, the red of Hux’s hair glows like holographic foil. 

Hux doesn’t spread himself out on the chaise yet. He leans against the balcony rail, his cigarette unlit between two fingers, and then runs his hands through his hair as he pulls an exaggerated stretch. 

Ren doesn’t even realize that he’s tugged the button of his jeans loose until he dimly recognizes that his hand is in his pants. He’s moving stickyslow, hilariously slow, like Hux is going to whip his head around and catch him. Instead, Hux grips the railing and demonstrates a few more stretches, and the thought once more occurs to Ren that Hux one hundred percent knows what’s going on.

 _He wants you to get yourself off. He likes this, this fucking tease, he gets off on knowing he’s being watched._ A small part of him is still not sure, is sure that he’s reading too much into it, but that part is not strong enough to stop him from touching himself. 

_Imagine fucking him right on that balcony, imagine that. Imagine taking him right on the chaise, the one he knows you’ve been watching him on, pressing him right into it, making him groan so loud the whole damn building hears. That posh voice, calling your name, and his voice rings out across the whole street, across the woods, calling, Ren, Ren, fuck me, yes Ren, just like that. Imagine him inviting you over first, oh, God, the way he smiled at you on the elevator, just imagine him smiling like that before he invites you to have him, eat him up in the bright sunshine, imagine how warm his skin is, imagine how hard he’d be if he saw you too, get him in the shower after--_

Not much of anything at all is happening on the balcony. Hux lights the cigarette. That’s all that changes. But within Ren’s apartment, here in the chair with the TV noisy so any gasp, any huff of impatient wanting breath, any whisper of a name, all swallowed, here in the apartment, the dam has burst. All the weeks of watching and admiring and wanting, seeing this beautiful man just a few yards away, Ren can’t do anything now except furiously pump himself, not even worried about making himself last. It’s too intoxicating to just imagine all the little scene fragments, fucking on the balcony, being invited inside, nothing in chronological order, just whatever moment strikes his fancy. 

And then he tenses as he comes, biting his hand to force himself quiet as he makes an unstoppable mess across his beloved chair. A ragged gasp works its way out of his mouth, over the sound of the cooking show, floating out the open window like dandelion fluff. 

He sees Hux turn, but slow, lift up his sunglasses inquisitively, but it seems genuinely unclear as to whether he can actually see Ren spread out in the chair, his wilting dick still tight in his grasp. The glance lasts only for a moment. Then he lowers his sunglasses again and returns his gaze to the city below. 

As soon as Ren’s sure Hux is looking away, he scrambles out of the room, to the shower. A few minutes ago he was moving cartoonishly slow, now he’s like a Scooby-Doo cartoon in his haste to run away. He doesn’t feel _done_ somehow, he feels like he wants to keep going, even when he doesn’t have anything left to give. A single wank isn’t the right ending to this project. As good as it felt to give in, he feels a little let down. 

But when he gets out of the shower, toweling off his hair, he glances down the hall and sees a single slip of white paper in front of his door, clearly shoved underneath from outside while he was in the bathroom. A cold hand seizes Ren’s heart. Maybe this guy did see him and thinks he’s a fucking nut case, oh, god--

He gathers up his courage and snatches the piece of paper off the floor. A note, handwritten.

 

_  
Hello, neighbor,_

_Thanks again for holding the elevator today. I’ve noticed you from my balcony from time to time. If it’s not too bold of me, I’d like to ask you over for drinks sometime. I don’t know if you’re already, shall I say, having drinks with somebody else. Or if you’re allergic to cats. You can text me anytime you like._

 

And then a phone number. 

Ren lets out a long, long sigh. He reads the note again, and again, and again. 

Seeing Hux light a nighttime cigarette is, after all, always good luck.

He puts Hux’s number in his phone and then goes in search of something to clean off the upholstery of the chair, to try and restore a little bit of dignity to the thing, which has served him so very well.

**Author's Note:**

> Back again with the hard kinks fills! Hope you guys like it. As usual, it's a little tiny bit different from the prompt, but I hope the prompter appreciates it all the same. <3
> 
> Come say hello on [ Tumblr](http://theweddingofthefoxes.tumblr.com/)!


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